Around the wooden table, the adrenaline that had carried them through the past hour was already beginning to disappear, leaving behind the stale smell of damp wool, gun oil, and exhaustion.
"So when do we roll out against these fools ?" Ryder asked, rolling his shoulders and rolling his neck until the joints popped. He grabbed his gun off the table as he was ready to keep running on fumes. "Vito's boys are sitting ducks out there right now. We take the stolen car, run through Northern Boulevard, and wipe them before breakfast."
"You aren't wiping shit right now, Ryder," James cut in, his low voice instantly getting the room's attention.
James pushed off the pillar, his arm hanging stiff in its sling. He pointed a chin toward the dirty glass windows set high into the garage wall. Outside, the sun was rising on the Queens skyline.
